


Life Goes On (no matter how much we hurt)

by MK_Yujji



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst, Gen, references to a major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MK_Yujji/pseuds/MK_Yujji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series AU.  When the unthinkable happened, there was only one person Sam trusted to take care of his children.  And he'd known they'd take care of him in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Goes On (no matter how much we hurt)

**Author's Note:**

> While I have seen several places where Sam referenced his daughter - and once when it was implied he had more than one child - I have never seen her named, so I've taken some liberties with that. If she _has_ been named and I just managed to miss that somehow, please let me know the episode so I can rewatch it!
> 
> I wasn't sure if I should tag this for Sam/G or not since there isn't actually anything that doesn't work within the close parameters of the partnership that we're shown within the show. In my head, there _is_ one-sided G/Sam here, but... I dunno. If anyone who reads it feels like I should add to the tags, I will. Otherwise I'll leave it as is.
> 
> I have no idea why my muses decided to be so mean to me today, but I couldn't get this out of my head. 
> 
> Possible triggers - mentions of parental death and implication that the kids were there when it happened.

“Michael fell asleep on your bed again. I’m not moving him this time.”

“You didn’t have to move him last time. It doesn’t bother me.” Sighing, G Callen shifted on the couch so that the dark skinned girl could sit beside him.

“You’re thinking about Dad, aren’t you?”

G looked down as Tamara curled up against his side and arched a brow. “Why do you say that?”

“There’s this look that you get on your face. Sad and kind of lost.” Tamara sighed and took his hand in her own to guide his arm around her shoulders. “No one makes you look like that except Dad.”

Hugging her close, G dropped a kiss on her forehead and marveled at how natural the gesture felt.

It hadn’t always been so easy.

In those early days after they’d lost Sam and Michelle, when G had found himself guardian of two small, traumatized children it had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Every instinct he’d ever had said to drop off the radar, to find a small safe place to lick his wounds and maybe never come out of it again.

That hadn’t been an option, though.

At first he’d needed to get Tamara and her brother back to the states, back to safety. They’d clung to him, the only thing in their world that still made sense and he’d still been on high alert, Sam’s last words to him - _Protect them, G. I’m trusting you with the most precious things I have. I will get Michelle. You take care of them. Please. Go!_ \- still ringing in his ears.

By the time the dust had settled, giving G custody had largely been formality. The only other blood family they had were Sam’s parents. Thomas and Latricia Hanna had made it clear that while they would take their grandchildren in if G wasn’t up to the responsibility, Sam had asked them to respect his wishes and he’d believed in G.

His partner had always had more faith in him than he’d ever had in himself.

G smiled faintly. “Do you know what today is?”

Her head tilted sideways and her lips pursed as she considered the question. When she answered, her words were slow and careful like she was feeling it out. “Friday. May 5. Dad’s birthday was months ago and I can’t think of any anniversaries….”

“Your dad saved my life almost a decade ago today.”

“Dad saved your life a lot, from what I remember.”

He huffed in amusement, but had to concede the point. “True, but that time was particularly close.”

Her brow wrinkled and threaded her fingers through his. “Wait, was that the time when… You came to stay with us for a few months while you got better, right? I was just a kid, then.”

“You’re just a kid now,” G countered, poking her with his free hand. But she _had_ been a little bitty thing then. He was surprised she remembered it at all.

“Whatever. I’m a _teenager_. You’re just too old to know the difference.”

“God help us all. And _ouch_. That hurts, Tammy. It really does.”

She just laughed at him. Then she snuggled close and rested her head against his shoulder. “Tell me about it?”

This probably wasn’t what Sam had had in mind when he’d decided to leave his daughter in G’s care, but he should have known better. One of the first promises he’d made them both was that he’d never lie to them. He’d kept that promise, even if he thought there’d been times when both Tamara and Michael regretted asking him things afterwards.

“Well…” He sighed and tilted his head back to stare at the wall. “There was a man who had done bad things and didn’t want witnesses, so he paid to have me and three other men killed.”

“Were you the only one that lived?”

“One other, but that is a different story. I thought you wanted this one?”

It killed him how much she reminded him of Sam when she rolled her eyes at him like that and huffed. He ignored the ache, though. It was as familiar as breathing by now.

“Your dad had dropped me off near the room I was staying at and as I was walking away, a van drove by and fired at me. I don’t know how many shots total, but five hit me.”

The backs of her fingers tapped lightly over the scar on his shoulder where it was hidden by his shirt. Very few people had ever seen those scars, but it was harder to hide from someone who actually lived with him. She’d never asked, though he’d seen her glance at them from time to time on the rare occasions they weren’t covered up.

They were as much a reminder of his mortality to her as they were to him and she’d been old enough when her parents had died for that to be a scary thing.

Michael was younger and any memory he had of that last night on foreign soil when Sam and Michelle had died was faint and mostly suppressed. G knew it’d probably come up someday and he’d never lie, but he was glad that at least one of them had bounced back without too many nightmares or complications.

For Michael, Sam and Michelle were just stories that G and Grandma and Grandpa told. G had done what he could to keep them real for both kids, but they’d had so little time with each other. The four years they’d been with G was already half of Michael’s life.

“What did Dad do?”

G took a deep breath and hugged her again. “He tried to get the bad guys, but they were already gone, so he concentrated on calling 911 and making sure I knew how pissed he’d be if I went and died on him.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Sounds like him. I know he worried about you a lot.”

“Yeah.” G’s voice was soft and he had to blink away the burn in his eyes. Sam had always worried about him. 

It didn’t seem right that he was the one still around.

The pain of Sam’s loss was always right there under his skin, waiting for the right moment to break free. 

“Oof!” His breath left him in a rush as a small, sharp elbow connected with his side. “What was that for?”

“You always tell me it’s okay to miss them and be sad. Maybe you should take your own advice.”

“Bossy.” 

She just shrugged and would’t let him deflect. “Does it ever stop hurting?”

She didn’t know much of his past, but she knew enough to know that he’d been an orphan too. His situation had been vastly different, but this was still one answer that he knew.

“Not really,” G said softly, exhaling deeply as he squeezed her hand. “But it does get easier. And some day you’ll go through entire days without thinking about how much it sucks.”

“I miss them.”

“Me too.”

They sat there on the sofa until her breathing evened out. He was careful as he shifted out from under her and scooped her up to carry her to her own bed. 

He pressed a kiss against her temple after he tucked her in and couldn’t help but smile at the face she made before he let himself back out of the room again.

It only took a moment to check in on Michael where the boy had fallen asleep in G’s bed. He really didn’t mind. His sleeping habits had gotten better over the years through the simple necessity of caring for two small children, but they’d never be what anyone else considered normal.

G still slept on his bedroll more often than not. Transferring to a consultant position and taking on the responsibilities of a single parent had changed a lot for him, but in other ways he was the exact same as he’d always been.

The bed had been a concession after several weeks of night terrors and the realization that the neither child could get any real sleep on the floor with him, where they'd insisted on settling after each nightmare.

Just like all the furniture that now cluttered his once empty house had been a concession to the bewildered and slightly horrified look on Tamara’s face the first time he’d ushered them in and told them it would be home for the foreseeable future.

None of them had been able to face the Hanna house for a long time afterwards and by the time they had... Well, the old Rostoff house had started to feel like a home again.

As he did another walk through of the house, G looked around and took a deep breath. There were toys and school books littering the living room. Honest to God home-baked brownies were wrapped up in tupperware on the kitchen counter and there was a stack of dishes in the sink waiting to be transferred into the dishwasher.

No corner of the house didn’t look lived in.

“You wouldn’t even recognize it, Big Guy,” G murmured as he began putting things away.

He paused at the only picture he had that was just him and Sam, taken at some team outing or another. Nell had pressed it into his hands the last day he’d been at OSP as he’d gathered up his and Sam’s things. 

Picking it up, G stared at their matching grins for a moment and could feel the burn start behind his eyes again. “You should be here, not me.”

The frame was cold and hard as he pressed it against his forehead and clenched his eyes shut. 

It took another few deep breaths before he was sure he had control again. Then he sat the picture down and settled back down on the couch for a nap.

He hadn’t lied to Tamara. It would get easier, eventually. 

But it would never stop hurting.

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely a small vignette of a much larger 'verse. I've outlined an entire plot around this single slice of life. Whether I actually write it or not... That will depend entirely on my muses.


End file.
